


Hell and you, I know you want it too

by hllfire, InsertSthMeaningful



Series: Folie à Deux [1]
Category: Filth (2013), Shame (2011)
Genre: Bruce Robertson is Gay and Homophobic, First Meetings, M/M, Masturbation, New Year's Eve, Sharing a Room, Smut, Voyeurism, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hllfire/pseuds/hllfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: With the coming of the New Year, Brandon wants some time away from Sissy so he can have some peace. Unfortunately, what he finds is very far from it.
Relationships: Bruce Robertson/Brandon Sullivan
Series: Folie à Deux [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086578
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	Hell and you, I know you want it too

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Bruce is a little shit, the "gay and homophobic" tag is there for a reason and it's not just for the joke. He uses a slur in here.
> 
> This is what happens when you let two queer writers talk about Shame and Filth and then realize there's almost no fics in english in the Brandon/Bruce tag. They're such a chaotic pairing that it's almost too hard to not write them. I still can't believe this is my New Years fic, 2021 is their year now.
> 
> I want to thank Steph (InsertSthMeaningful) who's my partner in crime for this series (and who betaed this whole thing and helped make it into a chef's kiss fic) for enabling me into writing this. My turn now to enable you into writing other parts hehe
> 
> To whoever reads this, hope you enjoy the trash husbands! ❤️

Brandon ran a hand over his face as he walked towards the door of his room, the corridor of the hotel smelling like cheap disinfectant, hurting his nose as he breathed in. It wasn't the best hotel in New York, far from it, but most of them were full with the coming of the New Years and that one with a dirty carpet and an unfriendly receptionist should be enough to house Brandon for a few days while he waited for Sissy to leave his apartment. He needed to be alone, or at the very least away from his sister.

He looked at the the key in his hands again, staring at the number on the faded paper tied to the keys and on the door in front of him, confirming it was room 213 and putting the key on the lock, ready to just crash on the bed and sleep until the next morning, too tired to even want to do anything else. As he opened the door and looked up to examine the room where he would be staying, Brandon realized that the room was not empty like it should've been.

He stood in the doorway for a few moments, trying to understand what that other man was doing there. The strange man's hands seemed frozen midway to unbuttoning his shirt, his face turned to Brandon with an expression just as confused as the one Brandon was probably wearing, and soon his voice came out of his mouth, annoyed.

"What the fuck are ye doin' here?"

Brandon frowned a bit more, trying to understand what the guy had said until he realized the scottish accent and what he could only describe as a dangerous glint in the Scotsman's eyes. He didn't answer immediately, still confused with that whole thing and changing the weight from one leg to another as he gripped the strap of his backpack a little tighter.

"This is my room."

"Nae, it isn't. Get th' fuck out."

 _"You_ get out, this is _my_ room."

The Scotsman seemed ready to bark back a response, his body taking an offensive stance when his eyes fell to Brandon's hand, seeing the keys hanging from his fingers. The paper with _213_ painted on it with black marker was visible, and Brandon only watched as the man got close to him and took the keys from his hand, examining the room number as if he wanted to make sure he was seeing it correctly. The Scotsman grunted for a second, shoving the keys back into Brandon's hand and looking back up at him with less of a dangerous presence now, more annoyed than anything else.

"I dinnae ken what to tell ye, sunshine, but this is my room. I have th' same keys as ye." The Scotsman stepped back, eyes still on Brandon as he got something from the bedside table and shook it in front of him. The room keys jingled as they were shaken and the piece of paper attached to them read _213,_ just like Brandon's. "But I got here first."

"I'm not giving up my room, there must have been a mistake."

"Why don' ye go out there to find out?" The smirk on the Scotsman lips made Brandon narrow his eyes. "Maybe ye can stay out."

"I will be back for my room."

As if to prove his point, Brandon threw the backpack with the few clothes he had brought with him on the bed where the Scotsman's bag was lying open, making sure his wallet and phone were in his pockets before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself. If it had been any other moment, any other situation, Brandon thought he would've just let the man have the room, but there weren't many chances he would be able to find another vacant hotel room nearby to stay the New Years.

He got down to the hotel's reception quickly, noticing the girl who sat behind it looking at him with a bothered face, as if only seeing Brandon was enough to make her day worse, and just waited for him to get close before spitting out a “How can I help you?” that told Brandon just how much she wished she didn't have to.

"There's another person in my room," he said quickly, seeing the girl's eyebrow raising. "Apparently you gave the same keys to me and another man."

Without saying a word, the girl turned her eyes over to her computer screen and started clicking things, making Brandon try to move to the side a little to see what she was doing, before she looked back at him.

"Yeah, apparently there was a mistake and the room you're in was booked by you and this Bruce Robertson guy," she said, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal. "One of you could give up the room or you guys could just share."

"Are there _any_ other vacant rooms?" 

"Not until next week."

Brandon sighed, closing his eyes and trying not to blame Sissy for all of this — although, if she hadn't appeared out of nowhere and taken over Brandon's apartment, he wouldn't have been in that hotel in the first place. When he opened his eyes again, he didn't even spare the girl a glance before he turned back to walk to his room, hoping that he could find a way to convince the Scotsman — _Bruce,_ if the receptionist had been right about the guy's name — to let him keep the room. He didn't want to go back to his apartment that night.

When he opened the door to room 213, however, he felt his stomach sink as he saw the Scotsman with his backpack by his side, open and clearly rummaged through, and a magazine in hands that Brandon recognized quickly as his own. He was going through the pages with clear interest in his eyes, his eyebrows raised at every picture he laid his eyes on. Their gazes met again once Bruce noticed Brandon's presence, and the smirk that appeared on the man's lips made Brandon clench his jaw immediately.

"Aren't ye a fun lad?" he waved the magazine around a little bit, shoving his free hand into Brandon's backpack and grabbing something, waving it around as well. It took a few seconds for Brandon to realize it was his bottle of lube. "Is that for yerself or were ye expecting to have company?"

"You can't go through my things like that."

"Ye left it in my room."

"Listen, just-" Brandon stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking towards the bed and taking his things, grabbing the magazine and the lube from the Scotsman's hands and watching him chuckle. "I need this room, I can't go back home and there's nowhere else near here I could go."

"I'm not leaving, sunshine." Bruce crossed his arms, his face more serious now. "Either ye get the fuck out or ye test how comfortable th' carpet is."

Despite himself, Brandon ended up staying. Staying or leaving, he would end up having to face someone, and he thought that maybe a strange man from Scotland who seemed very intent on calling him _sunshine_ at any given chance was better than facing Sissy again.

He had a moment of peace when the man left the room after changing his clothes, saying something about finding somewhere to have a drink and that he wouldn't invite Brandon because he didn't want to, leaving Brandon alone with the room all for himself. After taking Bruce's things from the bed — which was something they would have to discuss because there was _no way_ Brandon would sleep on the stain-covered carpet —, he sat down and turned on the small TV that was placed on the wall, surfing through the channels and trying to find something to distract him, his plans of going to sleep immediately after getting into the room having been foiled.

The whole time, Brandon's eyes drifted from the TV screen to his backpack, which was now lying in the corner of the room, wondering if he should just give in and take the magazine and the lube out. It surely was certain to help him relax after that whole situation.

He tried not to, holding it back for as long as he could by trying to make his brain focus on the movie he had put on, but after an hour there was that need clawing on his skin again, the one he never got rid off. It wasn't truly lustful — most of the time it wasn't —, it was just an uncomfortable need, as natural to him as thirst or hunger. When he gave up trying to hold it back, his only worry was if he should do it there on the bed where he lay or if he should move himself to the bathroom to avoid being surprised by Bruce in case he returned. The bathroom seemed to win that one.

He took the bottle of lube from his things, staring at the magazine for a few moments before deciding not to use it that night. He took a towel he had shoved into the backpack and clean clothes as well before walking towards the small bathroom of the hotel room. At least the bathroom was clean — there weren't any suspicious spots on the ground or the ceiling like in the room with the bed. The white walls reflected the white light that hung from the ceiling. The sink was small, but seemed clean enough as well, which made Brandon confident enough to rest his hands on it as he looked at himself in the small wall mirror.

There were dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep, his face looking tired. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd have to discuss — maybe _argue_ would be more appropriate there — with Bruce about who would get the bed, he would probably have left the bathroom and thrown himself onto the mattress immediately. He just hoped Bruce would come back before Brandon made the decision himself. 

He started undressing, throwing the clothes he was wearing on the ground until the cold night air was hitting his body directly, goosebumps rising on his skin with the soft breeze that blew through the bathroom. One of his hands held onto the sink, pressing down on it for a moment to make sure it was sturdy, while the other went down on his own body and grabbed his cock, giving it a few tugs and feeling himself hardening slowly. It was a familiar process, one he had done too many times now for too long, and soon he felt himself heavy between his legs, hand reaching for the lube that was discarded on top of the sink to make the drag of skin against skin easier.

He took a fair amount of lube, feeling it cold on the palm of his hand, hissing with the chill before the lube warmed up with a few strokes. He felt his breathing picking up as the pleasure coursed through his body, shivers running up his spine as he kept his hand moving, and soon his eyes were closing and he allowed himself to fantasize about something to help him finish it all quicker.

He didn't have anything in his mind that day, no proper image or set of events that could turn him on, only small moments that always seemed to make him harder when he thought about them: a mouth around his cock, someone else's hand stroking him, the tight feeling of being inside a body — accompanied by his grip tightening around himself — and the memory of the sounds people made in bed whenever they were with him. They weren't tied to a face or a body in his mind, only the sensations, and it was enough to make his hips thrust forward against his own hand, a few grunts leaving his mouth as he felt his whole body burning and his head grow lighter with the pleasure.

He came with a quiet moan, his legs almost losing all their strength as he put some more weight on the hand resting upon the sink that held him up. He opened his eyes again, breathing heavily as he noticed his image now on the mirror: completely flushed from his face to his chest and with his pupils blown wide.

He ran his clean hand through his hair for a moment before washing his come from the other and cleaning any drop that spilled before getting himself under the shower. The cold water hit him first, making his body tense up completely, right before it warmed slowly and he could start cleaning himself off.

Outside the bathroom, Brandon heard the room's door opening and someone entering with heavy steps, whistling loudly as they closed the door. At least he had been able to finish before Bruce arrived.

On the morning of the 31st of December, Brandon cursed the winter time as he saw snow falling outside. Fortunately, he was protected from the cold by the heater next to the window, which shook slightly as if it was about to explode at any moment with the effort it was making to keep the room warm. If there hadn’t been so much snow outside and the streets weren't so slippery, he would be taking a run through the streets just so he could unwind and stay away from his unwanted roommate, who insisted on smoking inside the room. It was too cold to open the window, and even if it had been an option, Brandon had found out earlier that it had gotten stuck, so the stink of the cigarette smoke wasn't something he could run from.

Bruce was sitting on his side of the bed as if he owned the place, legs spread on the mattress and a cigarette between his lips as his head rested against the headboard. There was a song playing on the radio, to which the Scotsman bobbed his head, very lightly as he kept his eyes closed.

Brandon took a moment to look at his unexpected new friend — although _friend_ wasn't exactly the word he was looking for — in the morning light: Bruce's shirt was open, showing his pale chest and the movement it made as he breathed; his pants weren't much different, the button and zipper open and showing the top of the black boxer briefs he wore, and although Bruce had been, for the lack of a better word, _an asshole_ ever since they met the night before, Brandon couldn't help the tug on his lower stomach as attraction took over him.

He hadn't been with anyone for a while now, not ever since Sissy showed up at his apartment again, and Bruce was attractive enough to make Brandon wonder just how flushed that pale skin would get during sex and what Bruce's hands would feel like against his skin. Brandon's hands were skinny and with long fingers, while Bruce's seemed bigger and thicker, and he imagined how those square fingers would feel around his-

Brandon took a sharp breath at the thought, turning his face away to look outside again and watch the snow falling. Although Brandon would love to try something and make something good out of the predicament he found himself in, there was nothing ensuring him that Bruce would enjoy any advances from him. They had shared a bed the night before after some arguing, which thankfully worked since it was a big, broad mattress after all, but Bruce had made sure to keep a good distance between the two of them while they slept. He only got comfortable on the bed again when Bruce got up.

"Why are ye here, by the way?" Bruce's voice sounded behind him, making Brandon turn his head again to see Bruce's blue eyes narrowed at him. The cigarette was still hanging between his lips, a small puff of smoke coming out of his mouth as he breathed. "Ye said yesterday that ye couldn't go back home and needed th' room. Ye live around here?"

"There's someone in my apartment at the moment," Brandon said vaguely, seeing Bruce's eyebrows rising at his words. "I needed somewhere to be away from them."

"An' ye're too much of a feartie to kick them out?"

"Too much of a _what?"_

"A coward." 

Brandon glared at him for a moment, but Bruce's smirk only widened.

"It's my sister. I can't kick her out, so I left."

Something crossed Bruce's face for a second as Brandon told him about Sissy, his breath hitching and his face becoming less teasing and more serious. Before Brandon could question it, however, the look was gone. Bruce licked his lips, his face turning darker as that weird danger took over his eyes again like it had done the night before.

"If ye want th' room for yerself, pal, just give me yer address and I can spend the New Years wi' yer lovely sister."

"Why are _you_ here?" Brandon ignored the Scotsman's words, his own face growing harder with them. "Decided to see what it’s like to spend New Years Eve in New York?"

Bruce just shrugged, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing the smoke up as his eyes went to the ceiling. Whatever good mood he had been in seemed to have dissipated now. 

"Needed time away from home. Too much happening, ye ken? Had to run away from all that shite or else I'd’ve snapped my neck."

"And is it working for you?"

"Let's just say I did not expect to be sharing my bed wi' another man, aye?"

Brandon didn't get the chance to open his mouth to reply, watching as Bruce jumped up from the bed and buttoned his pants before turning to Brandon again, some of the mischievous look coming back to his face slowly.

"Will ye be going out with someone tonight?"

"I- No. I will stay in the room."

"How sad of ye. Get yer wallet then, sunshine." He started to move around the room, taking a black long coat from his bag and putting it on before starting to button his shirt up. "Since we're spending the New Years together wi' no choice whatsoever, let's at least buy something to drink."

Brandon had almost slipped on the ice a few times as they walked through the streets, snow getting caught in his and Bruce's hair as they went, their breathing visible with the cold. A white and red scarf was wound tightly around Bruce's neck, hiding his lips and almost reaching his nose to keep the cold away, and there was something in the way he looked that made Brandon want to smile. It was almost _cute._

They both had some bags in their hands as they made their way back to the hotel, a few bottles of cheap whiskey and wine — _"This will be th' worst whiskey I'll ever have, but as long as it gets me pished I'm fine wi' it,"_ Bruce had said at the store, shaking the bottles in the air for Brandon to see — and some pastries and snacks filling them up as well and making them heavy as they walked through the thin coat of snow and ice that covered the sidewalk.

At some point, as Brandon stopped to look at Bruce again, his luck ran out and he felt his feet slide forward on the iced-over pavement. He fell to the ground with a heavy grunt as he felt the pain of the impact. Thankfully, other than the sound of his fall and of the things hitting the ground, there wasn't any tinkling of broken glass, which gave Brandon the hope he hadn't broken anything that wasn't his own ass.

By his side, he heard the sound of Bruce laughing out loud, noticing the other man doubling over as he wheezed. Brandon grunted once more, letting go of one of his bags to touch his lower back for a moment, feeling the pain pulsating there before he tried getting up, his feet still sliding a little bit. 

He didn't expect the hand on the back of his coat pulling him up as if he weighed almost nothing and putting him back on his feet. Let alone that said hand would belong to Bruce. 

"Up, sunshine. Let's get back to th' hotel already, aye?"

Brandon took a moment to stare at the other man, wondering where that strength he had used to pull Brandon up came from, and suddenly his mind wandered off to somewhere else.

_Bruce's hands on him, on his hips, his shoulders, his legs, holding his chin, moving him around at his will. Those hands holding him tightly in his place, fingertips bruising his skin and leaving an array of purple marks, so he wouldn't move, so he would stay still as Bruce-_

"Did yer feet get stuck on th' ice, sunshine?" Bruce's eyebrows were raised as he stared at Brandon, curiosity sparking in the blue of his eyes. "Move."

Brandon obeyed, taking the bag he had left on the ground and trying to push away the thoughts that kept circling his mind.

Brandon stroked himself quickly, trying to finish as fast as he could before Bruce inevitably returned. The clock back in the room showed it was almost midnight, almost the new year, and Brandon was already tipsy from the drinks he had had before Bruce had left to try and find somewhere open where he could buy a pack of cigarettes. He had held himself back the whole day he spent with Bruce, but, when the Scotsman had left, a welcome chance for him to hide in the bathroom and jerk off had arisen before he had to be in Bruce's company again.

This time, however, when Brandon closed his eyes and tried to imagine something to aid him into finishing faster, it was Bruce's face that he saw. With each stroke of his hand, he thought about the other man's hand around him, touching him, or holding his hips tightly. He wondered what it would look like to see Bruce's eyes looking up at him, the bright blue in them shining as his lips wrapped around Brandon's cock. With each image his brain came up with, Brandon felt the pleasure building up more and more in his lower stomach, and he felt himself getting closer and _closer._

When the bathroom door opened all of the sudden, Brandon stopped, startled as his eyes opened again to see Bruce there, staring back at him. He felt himself go cold for a moment, as if Bruce could know just by looking at him that it was him Brandon had been thinking about as he masturbated, although that was an impossible feat. All Bruce did upon looking at a naked Brandon and seeing his cock hard and heavy between his legs was snort before a wheeze came out of his mouth. Brandon, frozen in place, only watched as Bruce turned back and left the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door, his mocking laugh still being heard.

Maybe it was the alcohol he’d had, the frustration of being interrupted right before he was about to come, or the fact Bruce was mocking him, but Brandon felt himself getting angry for a moment, grabbing the nearest towel and wrapping it around his waist before getting out of the bathroom. He saw Bruce near the bed, his eyes moving to look at Brandon with pure amusement in them, and it was enough for him to shove the Scotsman back as hard as he could to throw him onto the mattress and straddle his hips as he held him by the collar of his shirt. The whole time, Bruce didn't seem phased, his eyes somehow shining brighter up at Brandon.

"Someone's angry," Bruce said in the middle of chuckling, grunting as Brandon's hands shoved him a little more against the mattress. The smile never left his lips. 

"Don't you know how to fucking knock?"

"Well, in my defense, I didn't think I'd be seeing ye wanking off in th' bathroom."

Brandon frowned down at Bruce when he saw him licking his lips, his pink tongue darting out, and something crossed his eyes as they wandered down Brandon's body. There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his gaze turning darker and, if Brandon wasn't reading it wrong, lustful, making a shiver run down his spine.

"Why don't ye take yer hands away from me-" Bruce's voice was low now, and Brandon gasped slightly as one of his hands moved to touch his stomach, the Scotsman’s fingers grabbing the towel and pulling it away from his body, leaving Brandon completely naked on top of him- "an' show me what ye were doing wi' 'em before I _rudely_ interrupted ye?"

Brandon stayed still for a moment, eyes widening as he looked down at Bruce with confusion all over his face, wondering if he wasn't imagining things. When Bruce's smile widened, Brandon shivered again, feeling his own cock twitch with interest at the Scotsman's request. Hesitantly, he released the grip he had on Bruce's shirt, one hand pressing against the other man's chest over his shirt and the other slowly moving to take himself in hand, a small pleased huff of air leaving his lips at the contact. He was still slick with lube, so the first stroke was smooth, and he watched Bruce's eyes fall to his hand, accompanying its movements. It felt somewhat unreal that he was doing that.

He sat back a bit more as he kept stroking himself, grinding his arse against Bruce's crotch and shuddering as he felt the hardness under the jeans he was wearing. It wasn't difficult to imagine the pants away, the touch of skin against skin, and himself rubbing against Bruce's cock. He moaned slightly at the thought, Bruce's eyes going back to his face with that, his tongue wetting his lips once more. Together with the strokes now, Brandon started moving his hips, watching Bruce's face flush as he hardened even more with the friction, blue eyes raking darkly over Brandon's face, his pupils slowly growing and taking away the cerulean of his irises.

Brandon's eyelids were slowly becoming heavier as the pleasure coursed through his body, dragging it out as much as he could, enjoying the feeling of a body under him and of his own hand on himself. He wondered if Bruce wouldn't touch him, if he asked. The Scotsman's hands were on the bed, not touching Brandon's skin at all, and he wished they were on his thighs, his hips, chest, cock, _anywhere;_ he held himself back from asking for that, afraid that saying something would break the moment.

Bruce's hands moved only after a while, his fingers working on the buttons of his shirt until it was completely open, his chest and stomach bare for Brandon to see, and he wanted to lean down to kiss the pale skin, bite it until there was purple staining it. His breath was quicker now as he felt the familiar feeling of an orgasm building up, his hips thrusting against his hand together with his own strokes, pressing down against Bruce's crotch time and time again with each movement he made.

When he came, he felt his entire body tensing up as his come hit his own hand and Bruce's chest and stomach, the white streaks painting the pale skin. He threw his head back, breathing heavily, riding the last waves of his orgasm, when he noticed the noise coming from outside. There were fireworks and people screaming, making Brandon frown and look at the clock next to the bed: Midnight. The new year had begun.

He felt a hand hold the back of his head, his eyes moving down to Bruce for just a second before he was pulled down for a kiss that took some of the air out of his chest. Bruce's lips were dry against his own, but still soft, the ginger beard tickling his skin a little. He closed his eyes for the kiss, humming lightly in approval, wondering if Bruce would seek his own pleasure now, if maybe he'd take the jeans off and open Brandon with his fingers to fuck him, feeling his spent cock twitching with interest at it once again.

Just as he was about to deepen the kiss, as he got ready to know what Bruce's mouth tasted like — probably whiskey, wine and cigarettes, considering what they had been consuming that night — Bruce's hand pulled Brandon back by his hair, drawing a small pained sound from him. As he looked down at Bruce again, there was a dark expression on his face, a smile that seemed not inviting at all.

"What a fucking pansy…" was all Bruce said before he pushed Brandon away from him and threw him on the bed. He got up, not sparing another glance towards Brandon before he locked himself in the bathroom and banged the door behind himself.

Brandon stared at the bathroom door for a while, frowning and trying to catch his breath as the fireworks still exploded outside. Their light painted the room in different colors, and Brandon wondered what he had gotten himself into.

**Author's Note:**

> Kuddos and especially comments are deeply appreciated ❤️


End file.
